“You don’t have to do that,” he said, “but thank you. We’re going to give her a police escort, and I’ll hitch a ride back with Reynolds. I need to be with my officers right now.”
“Of course you do. I totally understand. Call me if you need me. I don’t care what time it is.”
Mike gave me a hug, holding me a little longer than he normally would have in front of all his officers. “Thank you. How did you know something was wrong?”
“Mac was in my bedroom, trying to work up the courage to come out and tell us. He didn’t say much of anything really; he just had this sad look on his face. I instinctively knew. He’s going to see if he can find her, make sure she’s all right. She showed up at the Ingram house for a minute. Lillian is going to watch out for her, in case she comes back. They’ll take care of her, I promise.”
“That makes me feel a little better,” he said. “Tell Mac I said thanks.”
“I will.”
“I better go,” Mike said. He gave me a sad smile before he started to walk away. Then he turned around and came back. Cupping my face in his hands, he said, “I’ve been meaning to say this to you for a while, and maybe now isn’t the right time. But I want you to know that I love you.”
My eyes filled with tears again, and I put my hands over his. “I love you too, Mike. Be careful, okay?”
“I will. You, too.”
“Always.”
He smiled again, then turned and hurried over to the ambulance. He climbed into the back and sat down on the bench as the driver closed the doors. Goodwin got into his patrol car, while a sheriff’s deputy and a state trooper got into their own patrol cars. Lights flashing, but with no sirens, the four vehicles started the slow drive to the morgue.
Ch
apter 39
Wednesday night/Thursday
When I got home, Randy’s car was in my driveway, and the living room lights were on. He was in the kitchen, fixing guacamole. “Let me guess: Dad called you,” I said as I put my keys and phone on the kitchen table.
“No, I saw him when he came back to the reception. He told me what happened, and gave me his key to your house.”
“Didn’t you have a date with Nigel tonight? Weren’t you two going to the wedding reception together?”
“We did go, but once your dad talked to us, we thought it was more important to be here for you,” Nigel said behind me.
“Your grandmother agreed. How’s Mike?” Randy asked me as he put the bowl of guacamole on the table.
“In shock, I think. Very emotional. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that before.”
“Your dad mentioned that Mike seemed to be having a hard time.”
“He feels guilty that she was there by herself. Apparently, she was there for four hours, was replaced by someone else, and then went back for a second shift shortly before she was killed. Mike feels he should have been the one taking a shift.”
“Why didn’t he?” Nigel asked. I glared at him. “I’m not suggesting that the chief was shirking his duty. Merely curious.”
“We were at the theatre, arresting a murderer.”
Randy gasped. “You found out who killed Susan Ingram?”
I nodded. “It was Richard Danforth, the director. He mistook Susan for Rachel, who was blackmailing him for a starring role in his next production.”
“Wow,” Randy said. “So I guess that’s the end of the show, then?”
“You know the old saying: ‘The show must go on’. The actors are going to honor their commitment, and do the other two performances.”
“That’s very good of them. Very professional,” Nigel said.
Randy filled three glasses with ice and put them on the table, while Nigel opened a large brown bag. The smell of fresh tortilla chips filled the air as he poured them into another bowl.
“Where did you guys get fresh chips?”
“We stopped by that Mexican restaurant by the highway,” Randy said, pouring a Dr Pepper in a glass. “The hostess on duty tonight is a friend of mine. We’ve got salsa, chicken flautas, sour cream and sopapillas, too. I thought you might want some comfort food.”
I checked the time, and was surprised to see that it was almost midnight. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep any time soon, so I sat with Nigel and Randy, enjoying their company.
They left about an hour and a half later, after helping me clean up. “Call me if you need anything,” Randy said.
“I will. I’ve got some things to do in the morning. I still need to replace my license and credit cards. My inbox is probably full, so I’ll be buried in work.”
“Tell Mike we’re thinking about him and his officers,” Nigel said. “I can only imagine what they’re going through right now.”
“I will, and thank you both.”
After I locked the door and turned on the alarm, I carried my phone into the bedroom and got ready for bed. I wasn’t sure if Mike would call or not, but I wanted to have the phone nearby in case he did.
However, he didn’t call that night, or the next day. I drove by the station a couple of times, but I didn’t stop. There was so much going on, between Richard’s arrest and Reagan’s murder. He would get in touch when he had time.
It was hard to concentrate on work when I was worried about Mike. I spent more time staring off into space than I did working. I finally gave up, shut off my computer, and started cleaning the house. I even cleaned the grill before I grabbed a book and sat down in one of the deck chairs.
A little while later, I heard the side gate open. When I looked in that direction, Mike was standing there, watching me. He smiled and joined me on the deck. “How are you doing?” I said.
“I’ve had better weeks.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not at the moment.”
I nodded.
“How are you doing?” he asked me.
“Worried about you.”
“Sorry I haven’t called.”
“I knew you were busy. I drove by the station a couple of times today,” I admitted.
He laughed. “Why didn’t you stop?”
I shrugged.
He looked over at the grill. “What’s on the menu tonight?”
“I don’t have anything planned. I take it you’re hungry?”
“I could eat.”
We went inside to see what was in the fridge. There was a package of chicken breasts, so I took them out, turned the oven on, and prepped the chicken. I poured some rice in a casserole dish, added cream of chicken soup, paprika, and a little pepper, put in the chicken, then topped it off with shredded cheese. I covered the dish with foil, and put it in the oven.
I started washing the dishes. “I was wondering if you could help me with something,” he said as he picked up a dish towel and started drying them.
“Sure, what do you need me to do?”
“I need to get something out of my car,” he said, putting down the towel. “Be right back.”
I picked up the discarded towel and dried the rest of the dishes. After hanging up the towel, I started setting the table. Mike came back inside and handed me a manila folder. “What’s this?”
“Crime scene photos from last night.” I must have gone pale, because he reached out and touched my arm. “Nothing graphic, I promise. These were taken after we removed her body.”
Hesitantly, I opened the folder. “What am I looking for?”
“I don’t want to influence you,” he replied. “You were there that morning, so I’m sure you remember how things looked. Just tell me what you see.”
The first few pictures were of the interior of the shed. I could see the video equipment on the table. When I got to the third picture, I noticed something. “Excuse me a moment. I’m going to grab my magnifying glass out of my office.”
“Did you find something?” Mike asked when I came back into the kitchen.
“What happened to the recorder?” I said, looking up. “It’s not here.”
“We noticed that, too.”
“So you don’t have a picture of Reagan’s killer?”
“No, we don’t.”
“How was she killed?”
“From what we can tell, there was a struggle, and she was hit over the head. We’re not sure with what, though.”
“Maybe she walked in on the person taking the equipment,” I said. “Could they have hit her with it?”
“Hm, I didn’t think of that,” Mike replied. “It’s certainly possible. The M.E. says she was hit several times by a blunt object. The suspect panicked when Reagan came in and hit her.”
I looked through a few more pictures before another one made me stop. “This is weird,” I said.
“What’s that?”
I slid the picture over to him. “Tell me what you see.”
“The back porch.”
“Correct. What else?”
“The normal things you would see on a back porch: firewood, a lounge chair, a grill.”
“What don’t you see?”
He looked at the picture again. “I have no idea.”
“The dog bowls.”
“What?” he said, looking confused.
“I remember there were two dog bowls right by the back door. But they aren’t there now. Did your people take them in for evidence?”
“I don’t think so.” He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Reynolds? Do you have a list of the evidence we took from the Dimwitty house?” he said, pushing the speaker button.
“Yeah, it’s right in front of me.” We heard papers being shuffled around. “Here it is.”
“Look for dog bowls.”
“Dog bowls, sir?” Reynolds said, sounding puzzled.
“Is that what I said?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then that’s what I’m looking for.”
“Yes, sir. Let me look…”
I got up and took two bottles of water out of the fridge, handing one to Mike.
“Sorry, sir, I don’t see them on the list. Is it important?”
“I don’t know yet, Reynolds. I’ll let you know. Thanks.” He hung up. “Okay, so no dog bowls. Like Reynolds said, is it important?”
“Explain to me why someone who is after surveillance equipment stops and steals dog bowls.”
“Because they have a dog.”
“This is going to sound stupid…”
“After the bowls? I doubt it.”
“I want to go to her house and see if the dog food is there.”
“Why?”
“Curiosity.”
“My curiosity is not that high.”
“How about this then? We can’t find the dog, and the dog bowls are gone now, too. If the food is gone, then we have two possibilities: Whoever kidnapped Pamela took the dog, too,” I said as the oven timer went off.
“Or Pamela is faking her kidnapping, and came back for the food and the bowls for the dog,” Mike said as his phone rang. “Penhall. Where? Tell Reynolds to meet me there.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Something’s going on at the Dimwitty house. You said you wanted to go over there. Come on.”
Ch
apter 40
We moved the chicken from the oven into the fridge, and I grabbed my phone and keys. Mike had brought a patrol car to my house, and we drove back to the Dimwitty house, lights flashing and sirens blaring. I had to admit it was a bit thrilling and terrifying at the same time. After riding with him, Mike had no right to complain about my driving!
We arrived at the same time as Reynolds, the front ends of both cars facing each other. Reynolds grabbed his rifle out while Mike pulled out his Colt and flashlight. “Go around to the left side,” Mike told him, “and count to ten. I’ll do the same thing on the right. We’ll go into the backyard at the same time.”
“Got it, Chief.”
“Cam, lock yourself inside my patrol car. If you don’t see either one of us in ten minutes, call it in. I’ll come get you if it’s all clear.”
I nodded.
“All right, Reynolds, let’s go.”
Waiting in the car was extremely nerve wracking. It was the not knowing that got to me the most. No room to pace in the car, either. Thankfully, after about five minutes, I saw Mike come around the corner and wave at me.
I jumped out of the car and ran over to him. “Did you find anything?”
Mike chuckled. “Oh, we found something all right.”
I followed him into the backyard, where Reynolds was shining his flashlight on something by one of the trees. As we got closer, I saw that it was a man. He was sitting on the ground, a hood over his head, tied to the tree. “What in the world?” I said. “Is he dead?”
“No, ma’am,” Reynolds said. “He’s alive. He kicked out at me when I got close to him.”
“Are you planning on leaving him sitting there? That seems rather cruel.”
“We wanted an impartial witness, so he can’t accuse us of brutality or anything like that,” Mike said.
I reached over and yanked the hood off. A pair of green eyes glared at me. He was gagged, which explained why he wasn’t yelling at us yet. “I’m going to remove that gag,” I told him. “I would greatly appreciate it if you wouldn’t start yelling your head off until I step back. Do you think you can do that?”
The man continued to glare at me, but he nodded. I moved behind him, untied the handkerchief, and slowly removed it. He coughed and gagged a bit.
“Reynolds, there’s some bottled water in the trunk of my car. Why don’t you grab a couple of bottles for the gentleman?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come on, cop, untie me,” the man said. “My arms are killing me, and my butt is numb from sitting on the ground.”
“Not until I find out who you are, and what you’re doing here,” Mike told him.
“I’m Desmond Long Jr, but everyone calls me Junior.”
“Our missing president,” I said.
“President?” He shook his head and laughed. “Who the hell do you think I am, lady, President of the United States? You must be a blonde.”
I kicked his leg hard, and he yelled.
“We’ve been looking for you for four days,” Mike told him. “We have some questions for you.”
“I’m not answering any questions until you untie me.”
“Then you’re going to be sitting there a long time.”
Reynolds came back with two bottles of water. He handed them to Mike, who put one on the ground at Long’s feet and opened the other one. Kneeling next to Junior, he tilted the bottle so Junior could take a drink. Standing up, Mike put the lid back on the bottle and put it next to the other one. “If you want more water, then you’ll have to answer our questions.”
“That’s police brutality!” Junior said angrily. “I’ve hardly had anything to eat or drink for four days.”
“Well, your attitude is hardly making me want to jump through hoops to help you,” Mike told him. “You’re one of the prime suspects in a murder.”
“Whose murder?”
“Clinton Ingram.”
“You’re crazy. I would never kill him. That’s like killing the goose who laid the golden egg.”
“What do you mean by that?” Mike asked.
“I mean, he is…was…my employer. He paid me good money with benefits. In this economy, why would I do anything to risk losing that?”
“Where were you Friday afternoon?”
“At a job site.”
“Can anyone verify that?” Reynolds said.
“No,” Junior said, shaking his head. “We haven’t started construction yet. I went out to look the place over, and to pick a place for our office trailer.”
I picked up the open bottle of water and gave Long another drink.
“I understand that you were one of three candidates to take over as president of Ingram Construction,” Mike said.
“Along with Scott VanMeter and Pamela Dimwitty, although I don
’t really understand why she was under consideration. Can you imagine a woman running a construction company?” Junior scoffed.
I poured the rest of the bottle on the crotch of his pants. I heard Mike and Reynolds chuckle.
“Are you going to let her do that to me?”
“Was Clinton having problems with any employees?” Mike asked him.
“Only with Joey.”
“What kind of problems were they having?”
“Joey didn’t know his head from his butt,” Junior said. “Clinton had been carrying him for years. There was no way that he was going to make Joey president.”
“I understand that Joey was involved in a hostile takeover of the company,” I said. “He felt that his father was running the company into the ground with all the low-income housing they were building.”
“That was about the only thing Joey and I agreed on. My old man vetoed the whole project when they first started it about twenty-five years ago.”
“Your father used to work for Clinton?”
“He was involved from the very beginning. They built the company together. Clinton relied on my father quite a bit. Without him, there wouldn’t be an Ingram Construction.”
Something about that sounded odd to me, but I wasn’t sure why. “Untie him, Mike,” I said. “He’s answered our questions. As far as his kidnapping goes, I’m sure Junior will cooperate.” I looked down at him. “Won’t you, Junior?”
“Absolutely,” he nodded eagerly.
“Go ahead, Reynolds,” Mike said.
Reynolds handed Mike his shotgun, and then pulled out a knife as he walked behind the tree. A couple of minutes later, the ropes dropped to the ground, and Mike held out his hand to help Junior to his feet. I bent over, picked up the second bottle of water, and handed it to him. He opened it and drank half of it. “Thank you,” he said to me.
“You’re welcome.”
“Now, Junior, could you tell us what happened to you?” Mike said.
“Don’t you know?” he said. “Surely my family reported me missing.”
Mike shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not.”
“Why, those ungrateful…”
“Junior, if you please,” Mike said.
Who Invited the Ghost to Dinner: A Ghost Writer Mystery Page 31
